HAIKYUU BOYS + ASKING YOU OUT TO PROM. featuring ⋮ daichi sawamura, sugawara koshi, bokuto koutarou & kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader ⸝⸝ it’s prom season, so the boys finally work up the nerve to ask their favorite manager to the dance. 9.1k words.
Practice has ended with the usual mix of exhaustion and noise—Hinata dramatically collapsing on the floor, Noya letting out loud pants and sighs, and Tanaka claiming he could no longer feel his legs. The sun had just started dipping through that gym windows, casting everything in that warm, sleepy gold that made everything feel softer somehow. One by one, the team began packing up their bags, slinging towels over their shoulders and mumbling half-asleep goodbyes. Filing out with lazy waves and sleepy grins. You sat off to the side with the manager’s notebook open in your lap, scribbling down the last bits of inventory and practice notes while the sound of shoes squeaking and light chatter showed around the gym.
“Hey,” a voice said above you gently. “We got cleaning covered for today. Go on home.” You looked up to find Sugawara smiling down at you, towel slung over his shoulder like always.
You blinked. “Wait… really? Are you sure? But why?”
“No reason!” he said quickly—too quickly. “You’ve been working hard lately. You deserve a break.”
You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Since when do you let me leave early?”
He simply smiles and places his hands on your shoulders, gently steering you toward the exit. “Don’t worry about it! We’ve got it all under control. Go on.”
“Suga—wait! What are you—“
“Go, go, go!” He said, still grinning like a man hiding something. ”But wait! You haven’t—“ then without explanation, he shut the gym doors behind you. You stood there in the hallway, staring at the closed doors, lips parting in disbelief. You frowned slightly, bottom lip jutting into a pout as you looked back one more time. But eventually, you sighed and turned to head home.
On the other side of the door…
Tanaka was on a chair trying to tape a string of paper hearts to the underside of the upper balcony. Noya was holding the chair sort of steadily—while also arguing about glitter placement. Asahi was sweeping like his life depended on it, and Hinata kept bouncing in place shouting, “Is it time yet!? Can she come back now!?”
“NO,” Suga snapped. “Hinata, if you ask me that one more time, I’m making you stand guard outside.”
Daichi stood a little apart from the chaos, hovering anxiously over a large, glitter-splattered poster propped against a bench. The more he stared at it, the more anxious he felt. A cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. His mind flashing with worst case scenarios—you seeing the setup, laughing awkwardly, shaking your head, and walking away without a word.
“Daichi,” Suga said, appearing beside him and placing a steady hand on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, blinking at him. “It’ll be fine,” Suga said softly. “Don’t worry too much about it.”
Daichi let out a shaky breath, eyes returning to the poster. “Do you think the poster is… too much? I mean..” He hesitated, frowning. “Isn’t it kind of… glittery?” He looked up at him with a pitiful expression, eyes full of despair.
Suga followed his gaze to the sparkling letters that read:
“GO TO PROM WITH ME?”—surrounded by stars, hearts, and way too much gold dust.
“Well…” Suga said carefully, “…it might be a little glittery.”
Daichi let out a low groan, covering his face with both hands. “Oh god. I knew I shouldn’t have–“
“But—“ Suga added quickly, cutting him off. “I'm sure she’ll love it. Don’t freak out.” Daichi peeked out between his fingers, still visibly panicking.
“She likes sparkly stuff, right?” Suga offered.
“I think?” Daichi muttered.
“Then this is thoughtful sparkly,” he said, giving him a little pat on the back. “Trust me.” Daichi didn’t look convinced. The chaos continued behind them—someone had dropped the water-filled bucket, someone else shrieked about Tanaka falling off the chair—but for a brief moment, Daichi stood there trying to steady his breathing.
He could only hope this didn’t turn into a disaster.
When you got home, the first thing you did was face-plant into the couch with a dramatic groan. The manager’s notebook had been tossed onto the coffee table with your phone clutched loosely in one hand. The whole day had drained every last ounce of energy from your body, and being forcibly dismissed by Sugawara hadn’t exactly helped your confusion. You buried your face into a throw pillow and let out a muffled noise of exhaustion. Then your phone buzzed once. Then again. And again.
With a groggy grunt, you clicked open your phone and squinted at the screen. The team group chat was going off—message after message filling the screen with chaotic chatter. You opened it lazily, your thumb dragging across unread messages.
SUGA: [Emergency meeting. Everyone please report to the gym. Now.]
TANAKA: [Emergency??] [Is someone dying or is this like… emotional emergency?]
NOYA: [Be there in five. Should I bring glitter? Not for any reason. Just… curious.]
HINATA: [OHH IS THIS THE THING] [Tanaka told me about THE THING] [Wait are we not supposed to talk about THE THING]
SUGA: [Hinata.] [Stop typing.]
ASAHI: [What kind of meeting is this..?] [Do I need to wear something nice or..?]
SUGA: [Everyone, please just report to the gym.]
You blinked at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen as you scrolled through the group chat. “…What.” The sheer amount of suspicious energy in those messages was almost offensive. Emergency? Glitter? “The Thing”? Asahi asking if he needed to dress up? You narrowed your eyes at the screen, then sighed, letting your head thunk back dramatically against the couch cushion. “…They’re definitely hiding something.”
Still, despite your suspicions, you were already grabbing your jacket and heading for the door. Whatever this was… you wanted to find out what it was. And now.
The walk back to school was quiet. The sun had already set, and the sky was turning that deep, dusky blue, stars barely beginning to peek through. The streetlights buzzed faintly overhead as you hugged your hoodie tighter around yourself, shivering slightly as a breeze swept past. “An emergency meeting? Seriously?” you muttered to yourself, shoulders hunched.
“What kind of emergency meeting happens after practice ends?” You let out a breathy sigh, rubbing your hands together to keep warm as your footsteps echoed lightly on the pavement. Another breeze hit and you hunched your shoulders more, pulling your sleeves over your hands. “Suga’s gonna owe me hot chocolate for this. Like, at least two packets.”
You were still mid-rant in your head by the time you reached the gym, but paused when you noticed something strange.
Well—not completely. There was a faint, warm glow spilling out through the cracks of the double doors, soft and flickering like candlelight or a very confused janitor left their phone flashlight on. You frowned slightly, slowing your pace as you reached out to push one of the doors open just slightly and peeked inside.
“…Guys?” you called, voice soft and uncertain.
“Daichi? Suga? You… here?”
Then your eyes landed on the figure standing perfectly still in the center of the gym, surrounded by what looked like—streamers? Paper hearts? A single balloon drifting off to the side? You let out a startled yelp, your heart shooting into your throat as you staggered back instinctively.
“Wait—wait! It’s me! It’s just me—Daichi!” the figure said quickly, stepping forward into the soft light. You squinted and sure enough, there he was. Daichi Sawamura, standing stiff as a board next to a suspiciously sparkly poster, his hand gripping a balloon string like it had personally betrayed him.
You let out a breath, half laughing, half scolding as your hand flew to your chest. “Daichi! Wha—why are you—why aren’t the normal lights on?!”
He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um… ambiance?”
“…Ambiance,” you repeated, deadpan. He nodded once, almost too seriously.
From behind one of the gym mats, a very suspicious sniffle echoed. “…What was that?” you asked, eyes narrowing.
Daichi straightened a little too fast. "Nothing! Must've been the wind... hah," he said, adding a stiff, awkward laugh.
From somewhere behind the mats, you barely heard a muffled, "Tanaka, shut up," followed by the sound of someone elbowing someone else and a not-so-quiet whisper of "ow."
Daichi groaned softly into his hands. You tilted your head, heart still racing from the earlier scare, but now slowly catching up with your brain. “Daichi,” you said, voice caught somewhere between amusement and suspicion. “What… is going on?”
He looked up at you, cheeks tinged pink, then glanced quickly at the suspiciously sparkly poster again. He hesitated, visibly swallowed, took a breath and then:
“I’ve been trying to ask you to prom,” he blurted out.
He winced. “I mean—not like right now specifically, I’ve just—I’ve been meaning to! For a while. I just—haven’t had the guts. But then the team got involved and it turned into… this.” He waved vaguely at the streamers and confetti and balloon bumping against his head. You opened your mouth to say something—but he was already powering through the panic.
“And I didn’t want to make it weird or anything, but I like you. A lot. And I thought maybe… this could be a good excuse to finally say something.” He paused, his ears turning red. “I mean—ask you to prom. Not like—confess my feelings or something. Unless you—unless you want that. I mean not that I’m not—” A loud sniffle sounded from the mats.
You turned sharply. “Was that—?”
“I’M FINE,” Tanaka’s muffled voice rang out. “It’s so beautiful,” Noya whispered dramatically.
“Oh my god,” Daichi muttered, dragging a hand down his face. Suga’s voice chimed in, “Ignore them. Focus. You’re doing great!”
“I’m going to throw a volleyball at someone,” Daichi whispered through gritted teeth. You couldn’t help it—you laughed. The tension melted off your shoulders as you stepped forward, closer to him.
“So, just to be clear…” you said, eyes sparkling with amusement, “you roped the entire team into helping you with a sparkly promposal?”
“I regret the glitter,” he muttered.
“I don’t,” you said, smiling wide now. “And… yes.”
His head snapped up. “Wait—yes?”
You nodded. “Yes, I’ll go to prom with you.”
“And I might even let you confess your undying love, if you’re lucky.” There was an eruption of cheers and possibly a few tears from behind the mats. Daichi’s face was buried in his hands again.
“Please never remind me of this moment ever again.” But he was smiling.
Practice was in full swing—shoes squeaking across the court, shouts bouncing off the gym walls, volleyballs echoing with every clean hit. Passes, serves, dives, sets. The same drills they ran every day.
You sat off to the side like always, cross-legged on the bench with your notebook propped up on your knee and a mechanical pencil in your hand. Being the manager didn’t mean you were always taking stats—sometimes, when practice ran like usual, you took the opportunity to catch up on homework. Or at least, try to.
Your brows were furrowed in concentration. The math worksheet in your lap may as well have been written in ancient Greek. You’d been staring at the same problem for what felt like ten minutes, chewing the inside of your cheek as you scribbled a number down—paused—and then immediately erased it again.
You didn’t even notice anyone approaching until—
“You know you’re supposed to be taking notes about the team, right?”
You jolted in your seat with a soft gasp, whipping your head around. “Suga! You scared me—”
He laughed, rubbing at his forehead with a towel as he leaned a little to peek over your shoulder. His hair was slightly damp from sweat, a water bottle tucked under his arm. “Sorry,” he said with an easy grin. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. What are you working on?”
You let out a sigh and looked back down at the worksheet, tapping your eraser lightly on the paper. “Nothing. Just… homework.”
He tilted his head at you, still curious.
“…Are you any good at math?” you asked finally, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.
He raised an eyebrow, as he sipped from his water bottle. “I’m decent. Why?” He finally said.
You hesitated, then shrugged like you weren’t trying to admit something you hadn’t said out loud yet. “Because I kind of suck at it.”
There was a pause, and he didn’t laugh or tease or even look surprised. He just nodded slowly, gaze thoughtful.
“I mean—I understand some of it in class, kind of,” you went on, eyes flicking down to your page. “But the second I leave it’s like everything I just learned disappears. It’s like… I never even took notes. Especially with formulas. I’ll memorize one, and then completely forget how the others work.”
Sugawara crouched slightly to meet your eye level, resting his forearms on his knees. “You know, that’s actually more common than you think.”
You looked at him again, surprised. “Really?”
“Mmhm,” he nodded. “Formulas are tough when they’re just numbers and letters floating in your head. You just need something that’ll make it click. Want me to help you out sometime?”
You blinked. “Wait—really?”
“Yeah,” he said easily, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “As long as you’re actually willing to learn. Not just stare at the paper like it’s gonna sprout answers.”
You let out a laugh. “No promises.”
He stood again, stretching a little. “Deal with it. I’ll start quizzing you between water breaks.”
“Geez, thanks,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the small smile pulling at your mouth as you watched him jog back onto the court.
Over the next few days, true to his word, Sugawara started quizzing you. Sometimes it was quick things during practice breaks—he’d toss you a water bottle and casually ask, “What’s the quadratic formula?” like it was the most normal conversation topic in the world.
Other times, when the gym was too loud or chaotic, he’d wait until practice was done and walk with you down the hallway, scribbling formulas on the back of his hand with a pen and holding it up like a flashcard.
Eventually, the little pop quizzes weren’t enough.
“Okay,” he said one afternoon, catching up to you after school with his bag slung over one shoulder, “I think we should try an actual study session. Not just verbal math questions during water breaks.”
You blinked. “Wait, really?”
“Mhm,” he nodded. “Library’s open until five. Come on, I’ll show you how to remember the formulas like a pro.” He said it with a grin like it was a secret only he could teach, and… you couldn’t really say no to that.
So that became your thing.
You found yourselves staying behind together more often—sitting cross-legged on the floor of the club room, surrounded by scrap paper, open textbooks, and half-eaten snacks. Hinata, Tanaka, and occasionally Noya would pop in, ask one question, and immediately derail the entire session, leaving you both laughing and groaning.
But even with all the interruptions and teasing, your grades started to improve slowly. Sugawara never once made you feel stupid. His explanations were clear and patient, always encouraging, and just a little smug whenever you finally solved a problem on your own. He’d grin so wide it made your stomach flutter, just a little. You told yourself it was just because of the progress you were making. Totally.
It had been a long day—rainy, with practice cut short early—and the two of you had taken refuge in the club room again. He’d asked you to meet him there for a “final challenge,” as he called it. Now, you sat across from him, hunched over the same table that had seen weeks’ worth of notebooks, practice sheets, crumpled scratch paper, and empty vending machine wrappers.
He was watching you with that usual soft grin, a pencil tucked behind his ear, sleeves slightly pushed up. “Alright,” he said, tapping his eraser on the table. “I think we’ve covered enough for today.”
You let out a dramatic sigh, flopping forward onto your arms. “Finally.”
“But—” he added quickly, “I have one last thing for you.”
You squinted at him, suspicious. “If it’s another worksheet, I’m genuinely going to cry.”
“It’s not a worksheet,” he promised with a small laugh. “It’s a… quiz. Kind of.” You sat up a little, watching as he pulled a single printed sheet of paper from his bag and slid it across the table. You stared down at it. A… word search?
“…Seriously? I thought you said we were done with tests,” you said, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that. Think of it as extra credit,” he grinned, tapping the top of the page. “Every prompt matches a formula we’ve covered. All you have to do is find the correct term in the grid.”
You looked at him suspiciously. “That’s it?”
You picked up your pencil with a skeptical look and worked through it slowly—circling “area,” “Pythagorean,” “volume,” “isosceles”—all the stuff he’d drilled into your brain over the past few weeks. Once the last word was found, you set the pencil down and leaned back.
Sugawara leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You sure?”
You blinked at him. “Um, yeah?” He pointed to the top of the paper, his expression feigning innocence. “Did you read the instructions?”
He just smiled, completely unbothered. Reluctantly, you leaned back over the page, eyes scanning the top line of text. In small, tidy font, it read:
"When you’ve finished finding all the answers, circle the remaining letters for a surprise message."
You tilted your head. “Seriously?” you muttered to yourself, but still grabbed your pencil again. Carefully, you began circling the unused letters, your brain starting to piece them together slowly. Scribbling each one at the bottom of the page to keep track.
Then you stared at the remaining letters in the grid.
Your eyes widened. “Prom,” you whispered.
Your head snapped up. Sugawara was sitting across from you, trying to look casual as he rested his chin on his hand. His cheeks were lightly pink, lips pulled into a small, almost sheepish smile.
“So?” he said, eyes soft and sincere. “What do you say? Would you go to prom with me?”
Then let out a surprised, breathy laugh. “You made me do math… for a promposal?”
“I made you review,” he said, smirking again. “Technically.”
You shook your head, staring at him. Then at the paper, then at him once more. And suddenly the word search didn’t matter, the formulas didn’t matter—because all you could focus on was the way he was looking at you. Like he was really, truly hoping you’d say yes.
“I’d love to go with you,” you said, voice a little softer. His eyes lit up—just for a second—and then he grinned that sweet, boyish grin you were pretty sure could melt every single formula out of your brain again.
“…Even if I make you do math again tomorrow?” he teased.
You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “Don’t push it.”
“Bokuto,” you called from the sidelines, flipping the page on your clipboard. “That spike was perfect. Relax.”
“But it felt weird,” he muttered, pulling at the hem of his jersey. His brows drew together, lips pursed in a small frown. “Did you see my hand angle? My form’s off! It’s all downhill from here. I’m peaking early. I’ll never—”
“It wasn’t weird,” Konoha cut in, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel.
“You landed the shot,” Akaashi added calmly, passing the ball back to the server.
“Nothing less from our ace,” you said, eyes flicking up from your notes.
Bokuto’s head shot up, eyes wide for a second—then his grin came back, full force. “YEAH! THAT’S RIGHT!” Just like that, his mood flipped. Confidence patched back into place, shoulders squared, back straight, energy firing again like nothing had happened.
Practice went on like normal after that. The usual drills ran off without a hitch, and Bokuto was back to being Bokuto. Every time he landed a clean shot, he turned to look at you. Almost like he needed to make sure you’d seen it. Like he wanted your reaction first, before anyone else’s.
“Did you see that, hey—did you see?”
“Yes, Bokuto,” you’d say, barely glancing up from your clipboard, but your lips always twitched like you were trying not to smile.
It was like clockwork. He craved the attention—and you gave it, in small doses, just enough to keep him focused without feeding his ego too much. You’d been helping out with the team for over a year now. When you first joined, it was just supposed to be something to keep you busy after school—a way to stop wasting your afternoons scrolling on your phone at home. And it worked. More than you expected, actually. So this routine wasn’t exactly new to you. Keeping Bokuto from spiraling was practically part of the job description at this point.
Later, when practice finally wrapped up and everyone was packing up their bags, Bokuto found himself lingering. He stood near the bench, loosely tying and untying the same knot in his drawstring bag over and over, brows furrowed.
Akaashi was at his side, like always. “You’re thinking again,” he said simply.
Bokuto jolted a little, shoulders tensing. “Huh? What—no I’m not.”
Akaashi gave him a look. The Bokuto, come on kind of look. The kind Bokuto couldn’t really argue with. He sighed, scratching the back of his neck. His eyes flicked toward you, still across the court, helping Kaori and Yukie clean up water bottles.
“…She called me the ace today,” he mumbled under his breath.
Akaashi blinked once. “You are the ace.”
“Yeah, but…” Bokuto’s voice trailed off for a second. His grip tightened around the strap of his bag. “I dunno. It sounded different when she said it.”
Akaashi hummed softly, eyes narrowing just a bit in thought. But he didn’t press him. Bokuto knew he was acting weird. He wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t like him—not really. He was used to attention, sure, but this wasn’t that. He didn’t just want your compliments to hype himself up anymore. He wanted—well, he wasn’t totally sure what he wanted. But his stomach did this stupid flip every time you smiled at him, and his chest got all tight when you stepped closer, handing him water or tugging his wristband up to check for bruises.
And now that prom was coming up? Forget it. His brain was on overdrive.
“I think,” he said quietly, fiddling with the hem of his jersey again, “I’m gonna ask her to prom.”
Akaashi didn’t even blink this time. He just zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay.”
“You like her. We’ve known that for months.”
“Wha—No, you haven’t!!” Bokuto squawked, heat rushing to his face. Akaashi raised a calm eyebrow. “Bokuto. You point out her hair every single day.”
“Because her hair’s nice!” Bokuto argued.
“You said it looked like it smelled nice.”
Akaashi sighed softly, like he was already tired of this conversation but too loyal to leave him hanging. “So? What’s the plan?” Bokuto’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been thinking about it all week!” He gripped Akaashi’s shoulders dramatically. “I’m gonna go all out. Big poster, sparkly letters, flowers—the whole thing! She won’t be able to say no!!”
“I think it’s… ambitious.”
Bokuto crossed his arms, pouting a little. “I’m not gonna mess this up. This is gonna be awesome.”
Akaashi gave a small smile, eyes softening just a bit. “I believe you.”
That night when Bokuto got home, he spent an hour standing in front of the mirror with a hairbrush in his hand like a microphone.
“Hey, so, will you go to prom with me?” he muttered, then shook his head. “No—no, that’s lame.”
He tried again, puffing out his chest. “You’re coming to prom with me.”
Wait. That sounded bossy. He groaned, ruffling his own hair. “Focus, Koutarou…”
Over and over, he practiced. Trying to get it just right. The flowers. The poster. The timing. The cool tone of voice that wouldn’t make him sound like an over-excited kid—even though that’s exactly how he felt inside. But no matter how many times he rehearsed it… every time he pictured your face.
His brain still went blank.
Bokuto groaned, setting the hairbrush down on the bathroom sink with a soft clack. His hands gripped the edge of the counter as he hunched forward, head hanging low between his shoulders. His reflection stared back at him from under his bangs—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, heart still beating way too fast.
“Calm down, Koutarou…” he muttered to himself, breathing in deep through his nose, then out again. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath, but no matter how hard he tried to settle his nerves, it wasn’t working. Every time he thought about you—about saying the actual words out loud—his chest would squeeze tight again. He scrubbed at his face with both hands, ruffling his hair on the way down, and finally left the bathroom.
Maybe if I just get the poster part done first…
That was the plan. Well, kind of.
He plopped onto the floor of his bedroom with a roll of poster paper, a few sharpies, and two bottles of glitter glue. He was already cross-legged, uncapping markers, before he realized:
He hadn’t actually planned anything.
“No big deal,” he told himself. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou! I don’t need a sketch first. I’ll just go for it!”
Worst mistake he could have ever done.
The bubble letters were the first problem. He started off fine—big loops, nice and bold—but by the time he got to the second word, the spacing was off. Way off. The “PROM” was all bunched up, leaning awkwardly to the side like it was trying to fall off the poster. The glitter glue smeared when he tried to fix it, leaving behind a trail of weird sparkly fingerprints.
Then came the colors. Red? No, too harsh. Yellow? Too hard to see. Blue? Well, he used too much blue and now the letters looked like they were underwater.
He sat back, staring at the mess in front of him with wide, panicked eyes. “No, no, no…” Bokuto whispered, dragging his hands down his face. His cheeks puffed out with a breath as he flopped backward onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling in defeat.
He rolled back up to sit again, crisscross applesauce, staring at the disaster poster like maybe if he blinked hard enough, it would magically fix itself.
It didn’t. So he did the only logical thing.
His phone rang twice before Akaashi picked up, voice flat as ever. “What happened?”
“Nothing! Just—” Bokuto scrambled, trying to sound casual even though his voice cracked halfway through. “I was just, uh…”
“Bokuto.” There was that tone again. The don’t-lie-to-me tone.
“I told you to plan it out first.”
“I did, Akaashi!” Bokuto argued, even though his gaze flicked guiltily back at the poster in front of him.
“You didn’t.” Akaashi’s voice stayed calm, monotone. “If you had, we wouldn’t be on this call right now.”
Bokuto let out a groan, throwing his head back dramatically. “Gahhh, Akaashi, please! Just come over and help me!”
There was a pause. A sigh crackled softly through the receiver.
Bokuto cheered, fist pumping into the air. “YES! I knew you’d say yes!”
By the time Akaashi showed up at his door—bag slung over his shoulder, expression neutral but eyes slightly tired—Bokuto was already pacing in circles around his room.
“I tried to fix it! I tried, Akaashi, but then the glue started getting everywhere and now my carpet’s got glitter in it and—”
Akaashi crouched next to the poster on the floor, eyes scanning the letters, the smudged corners, the two sets of half-ripped stickers Bokuto had tried to use and then peeled off again. “…This is fixable,” he said simply.
Bokuto practically wilted with relief. “Really!?”
“Yes. But you have to listen to me this time.”
“I will! I promise! I’m listening!” He sat down quickly, crisscross again, knees bouncing a little in place.
Akaashi gave him a quiet look. “First rule of posters: sketch the layout before you start. Second rule: choose one main color.”
Bokuto nodded eagerly, pulling out a clean sheet of paper.
“And third,” Akaashi added, setting the ruined poster aside, “stop panicking. You’re going to be fine.”
Bokuto’s throat tightened just a little at that. Because yeah, it was just a poster—but it wasn’t just a poster. It was you. And that made all the difference.
They spent the next hour sprawled out on the floor, sketching bubble letters with pencils this time, testing markers on scrap paper before actually committing. Akaashi showed him how to get the spacing right—“Use your hand as a ruler,” he’d said, flattening his palm between each word to measure even gaps. Bokuto tried not to freak out about every tiny mistake.
By the time the final draft was done, Bokuto was beaming.
“See!? I told you this was gonna be awesome!” He held the new poster up with both hands, sparkly but tasteful this time.
Akaashi didn’t smile, exactly—but his eyes softened. “…You did good, Bokuto.”
Bokuto grinned even wider.
Now all he had to do was actually ask you. Which… was still terrifying. But at least the poster part was done.
Bokuto barely slept the night before. He’d stayed up so late rehearsing his lines that he memorized them forwards, backwards, upside-down—but somehow, the second he closed his eyes to rest, his brain kept running through them again. By the time the sun came up, his body felt like it had been through an entire five-set match.
But at least Akaashi was there to help him through it. They spent their lunch break huddled behind the school building, with Akaashi standing stiffly in place while Bokuto tried, for the third time, to get the words out the way he’d practiced.
“Okay, Akaashi. Pretend you’re her.”
Akaashi sighed, adjusting his bag strap on his shoulder. “…Fine.”
Bokuto sucked in a breath. His palms were sweaty even then, gripping the air as if the bouquet was already in his hands. He cleared his throat, puffed his chest out, and—
“HEY YOU!! WILL YOU GO TO PR—”
Bokuto deflated immediately. “GAHHH, I KNOW! I KNOW! I’M PANICKING!!”
“You don’t have to yell it,” Akaashi said, deadpan. “Try again. Quieter.”
So he tried again. And again. He still messed it up. By the fifth attempt, his brain was spinning in circles and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so Akaashi made him write it down instead.
“You can memorize this on your own time,” Akaashi said flatly, handing him a neat list of bullet points scribbled in Bokuto’s frantic handwriting. “Or just… read it off the page. Seriously, Bokuto. Just breathe.”
“I GOT THIS!” Bokuto yelled.
“I mean—I got this.” Bokuto whispered, tugging at his collar to cool himself off.
And now here he was. Standing outside the gym doors, heart hammering in his chest. In one hand: a small bouquet of your favorite flowers (he made sure to ask Yukie twice to make sure he got the right ones). In the other hand: the finished poster, shiny with just the right amount of glitter—not too much, thanks to Akaashi’s intervention. His hands were sweaty, knees a little shaky, and he could’ve sworn he almost pissed himself on the way here.
“Bokuto,” came Akaashi’s voice again—echoing in his mind. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing!” Bokuto whispered back at nobody, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I so got this. I so got this.”
He tried to calm the tremble in his hands, but the nerves kept bubbling. All he could hear were the slams of volleyballs from inside—the familiar thwack of the ball hitting the floor, sneakers squeaking, players yelling for each other. Your voice cut through all of it.
Bokuto’s stomach flipped. He took one more shaky breath, and went for it.
The gym doors slammed open a little harder than he meant to. The whole room paused and everyone’s heads turned towards the door. There he was—Bokuto Koutarou, standing in the doorway, bouquet in one hand, poster in the other, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
“Bokuto! You’re late!” someone from the court called out, half laughing.
He didn’t move for a second. His throat tightened. All his practiced lines—the ones he’d repeated in the mirror that morning, the ones Akaashi drilled into him at lunch—they completely flew out of his brain. His hand clenched around the bouquet. Oh god oh god oh god—
But then his eyes locked onto you.
There you were, clipboard in hand, standing near the benches, hair a little messy from running around helping with drills. You looked at him, confused at first, tilting your head like you were trying to figure out what he was doing.
“Bokuto?” you said. “What’s—?”
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. His knees wobbled a bit. “Hey—!” you started, but he cut you off with the nickname he’d been using lately, voice louder than it needed to be:
The whole gym went dead silent.
Your face flushed immediately. “Bokuto—!” you hissed, glancing around, but everyone was already staring at him. There was no stopping it now. Even the volleyballs stopped flying. Konoha froze mid-serve. Washio blinked. The sound of practice died completely as all eyes landed on him, bouquets and posters and all.
”…Yes, Bokuto?” you said, trying to keep your voice even.
That was it. That was his chance. Except—his mouth wouldn’t move. For the first time in his life, Bokuto Koutarou went completely quiet. The words sat on his tongue like a volleyball he forgot how to set. His shoulders stiffened, his grip on the poster tightened until the paper crinkled just a little under his fingers.
Akaashi stood nearby, towel slung over his shoulder, watching silently. His eyes flicked to Bokuto’s face, then back at you. He didn’t say anything—but he was ready to jump in if needed. But Bokuto didn’t need saving this time. All he needed was a second.
Finally, after what felt like years, Bokuto forced his body to move forward. His legs felt like they weren’t even attached to him anymore, but he crossed the court with his chest puffed out—trying to look confident, even though his stomach was flipping inside out. When he reached you, his voice came out a little softer. Still loud—but not the gym-shaking loud it usually was.
“Hey,” he breathed, handing you the bouquet. His fingers brushed yours for just a second. “These are for you.”
You blinked down at the flowers, lips parting slightly in surprise. Your face was still warm, but your heart squeezed a little at the sight. “Bokuto—what is all this?” you whispered, cheeks puffed just slightly as you tried to hide your flustered smile.
He held up the poster with both hands, his face burning.
“WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME!?” The words were big, glittery, tilted just slightly sideways—but you could tell he worked hard on it.
Then, behind you, one of the first years whispered way too loudly:
“Damn. He actually did it.”
“Shh!” Yukie hissed, elbowing him.
Konoha let out a breathy laugh from the court. “No way…”
You looked up at Bokuto, still clutching the bouquet, heart racing just as fast as his. And even though you were embarrassed—and even though he definitely could’ve picked a less public moment—you couldn’t help but grin.
“…Of course I’ll go with you, Bokuto.”
His face lit up instantly.
“YEAH!!” he yelled, pumping both fists in the air before grabbing you into a quick, one-armed hug—gentle, because he remembered what Akaashi told him: Don’t crush her. The whole gym erupted into cheers, and someone threw a volleyball into the air like it was confetti.
“SEE!?” Bokuto beamed, eyes wide and shining as he looked at the team. “I told you guys I could do it!”
Akaashi adjusted his headband, voice calm as ever. “I never doubted you,” he lied.
Truth was, Kuroo lived for getting under your skin. It was his favorite part of practice—watching you scribble notes from the sidelines while he tossed comments over his shoulder, each one landing just close enough to make you look up. Sometimes you rolled your eyes. Sometimes you shot him a glare. Once or twice, you’d mumbled something about wanting to strangle him under your breath.
He only grinned wider when you did that.
“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he’d tease, winking like he wasn’t completely serious—but also definitely a little serious. It was a game to him. Always pushing your buttons, just to see how far he could go. And most of the time, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of really snapping, you’d just brush him off with a sharp sigh or a deadpan look.
That’s why, when he asked about prom, he expected to have the upper hand. It was just another way to rile you up. Another teasing jab.
“Bet you’ve got a whole line of guys waiting to ask you, huh?” He asked casually as he leaned against the wall with that usual foxlike grin, eyes half-lidded.
You barely looked up from the crate of water bottles you were refilling. “Mmm, who knows,” you hummed, deliberately nonchalant as you walked right past him, brushing just close enough to make his heart skip a beat. “Maybe someone already has.”
He stood there, dumbfounded, one eye twitching slightly as he watched you walk away, lips parting like he wanted to say something back but couldn’t think of a single word. Instead, a small breathy scoff-laugh slipped out—a sharp breath through his nose, half a chuckle, half disbelief. He barely noticed the volleyball flying at his back until—
“Hey! Snap out of it, Kuroo!” Yaku barked, smacking him square between the shoulders with the ball.
“Ah—! Hey!” Kuroo jolted, hand rubbing the sore spot as Yamamoto and Inuoka cackled nearby.
“Dude’s gone,” Yamamoto snickered. “Did you see his face?”
“Someone’s flustered!” Inuoka added, grinning.
Both boys kept laughing, their shoulders bumping into each other like this was the funniest thing they’d seen all week. Kuroo’s scowl deepened, “I’ll make you all run fifteen laps right now! Cut it out!” he snapped, voice cutting through the gym like a whip. And the threat worked instantly—Yamamoto yelped, straightening up, while Inuoka clamped his mouth shut mid-snicker.
But Kuroo’s cheeks were still burning, his ears too. He tried to play it off, but the truth was—your comment stuck with him.
Practice went back to normal, at least for everyone else. But Kuroo kept thinking about what you said. When practice ended, he slung his bag over his shoulder, still distracted. Kenma was nearby, tapping away at his PSP waiting for him to finish up. Kuroo glanced across the gym and saw you talking with the coach about some schedule changes, suddenly feeling this twist in his stomach. He looked away quickly, walking towards the doors with Kenma.
The air was cooler by the time they left the gym, bags slung over their shoulders, sneakers tapping lightly against the pavement. Kuroo walked a half-step behind Kenma, eyes squinting up at the sky like he was trying to count the stars—or avoid looking at something else.
“Do you really think someone’s asked her already?” His voice came out too casual, eyes glued to the sky like he wasn’t actually asking for real. But he was.
Kenma didn’t look up from his console. His thumbs tapped lazily at the buttons, soft click-click-click sounds filling the silence between them. “How would I know?”
Kuroo huffed, staring at the stars a little harder. “Yeah, right. How would you know…”
His grip tightened slightly on the strap of his bag, jaw tensing just enough for Kenma to notice—even if he didn’t say anything about it. His head was full of images he didn’t want: some faceless guy pulling you aside after class, handing you flowers, maybe laughing with you the same way he usually did. He hated every bit of it.
When Kuroo got home, the first thing he did was kick his shoes off without untying them, bag sliding off his shoulder with a dull thud against the floor. He flopped onto his bed face-first, burying half his face into the mattress with a sharp inhale—then let it out, hot and shaky, muffled by the fabric. His legs dangled off the edge. One arm hung loose off the side, fingertips brushing the floor.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket.
He groaned softly, dragging it out and flipping onto his back. His eyes squinted against the screen brightness before adjusting, thumb automatically swiping to your name in his messages. His chest squeezed a little when he started scrolling. Old conversations. Random stuff. Practice updates. Dumb memes. The occasional accidental picture Yamamoto sent to the group chat by mistake, followed by you calling all of them idiots. It was all normal.
His thumb hovered over the message bar, tapping into it before he could stop himself.
You [10:42 PM]: “sooo.. did someone really ask you already?” [deleted]
You [10:43 PM]: “just wondering if i should save myself the embarrassment lmaoo” [deleted]
You [10:43 PM]: “i really wanted to be the first one to ask you” [deleted]
His fingers paused, chest rising slow.
You [10:44 PM]: “…you have no idea how much i like you”
His thumb hovered over Send—hovered for way too long.
His stomach twisted. After a second, he pressed backspace, watching the letters disappear, then dropped his phone beside his head onto the mattress. His eyes shut tight, throat clicking in a swallow.
“God…” he whispered under his breath, fingers raking through his hair. Then—buzz. His eyes snapped open.
“Oh shit—did I accidentally send that!?” His whole body jolted, fingers scrambling for his phone, screen lighting up in the dark.
Fussy Kitten [10:46 PM]: [Practice is starting a bit earlier tomorrow, don’t be late.]
He blinked, reading it over and over. Shoulders dropping slightly when he realized it was just you—not that kind of message. Still, the contact name burned a little. Fussy Kitten. It was a joke at first, something he called you because of the way you’d squint at him or shove his shoulder when he got on your nerves. He never changed it. Kind of liked it, actually.
His lips twitched, letting out a soft breath.
You [10:47 PM]: [yes ma’am]
After sending it his eyes drifted to the top of the chat, where your icon stared back at him. It was a photo he’d taken months ago—when you were laughing at one of Yamamoto’s dumb jokes during a lunch break. He’d snapped it on instinct. Kenma caught him doing it and called him a weirdo, but Kuroo didn’t delete it.
Now he just stared at the picture, phone screen dimming a little as his thoughts spun in circles. He shut his phone off, dropping it on his pillow with a soft sigh.
Okay, Kuroo, he thought, chest still tight.
You’ve got to figure out how to ask her. And fast.
The next day came faster than he wanted. Kuroo barely slept the night before. He tried to, but his mind wouldn’t stop chewing on the same thought: “Maybe someone already has.” It looped in his brain, over and over, until his chest felt tight again.
By the time he made it to school the next morning, his head was a mess. His bag strap dug into his shoulder, but he barely noticed. His eyes kept drifting—searching for you in the halls, peeking over heads at lockers, checking the courtyard before class.
And at practice, it was worse.
Usually, he’d be the first to start teasing, poking fun at Lev or sneaking a quick one-liner at you from across the gym. But today? His eyes weren’t just on you—they were stuck on you. And how he saw you talking with someone else across the gym.
There you were in all your glory, standing near the benches, laughing with one of your classmates. Someone from another club, he couldn’t even remember the guy’s name. You said something, your head tilting back a little as you laughed, and when the guy laughed too, you gave him a playful shove on the shoulder.
Kuroo’s stomach twisted hard. His hands flexed at his sides, and his jaw tightened before he could stop it.
Kenma’s voice came from somewhere behind him. But Kuroo didn’t answer right away—just kept staring. His chest felt heavy. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he wasn’t even trying to glare.
“Kuroo.” Kenma nudged his elbow.
Kuroo sucked in a breath through his nose, looking away just enough to break the stare. But his mind wouldn’t shut up.
Why’s she laughing like that?
When they started drills, he was off.
The first serve of the day? Slammed it so hard that it whizzed over Yaku’s head and smacked the back wall.
“I’m fine.” His voice came out sharper than he meant, shoulders stiff. His usual smirk was gone. His eyes flicked back toward you again.
Kenma squinted at him from the sidelines. It kept happening. He overcorrected on his blocks, jumped too early for a spike, missed an easy receive. At one point, he set the ball way too high, sending Lev scrambling under it.
“Hey, Kuroo!” Yaku called from across the court, eyebrows raised. “Get your head on straight, man!”
“I said I’m fine!” The snap in his voice echoed a little too loud. Yamamoto and Inuoka both jolted at the tone.
Lev scratched the back of his neck, nervously laughing. “Uh… Kuroo’s scary today…”
“Scary and sloppy,” Yaku muttered, hands on his hips. His eyes narrowed at Kuroo’s stiff posture, like he was about to say something else—but then Kuroo went for a dig, misstepped, and—
Kuroo stumbled, skidding his palm hard against the gym floor as he caught himself. The sting lit up his hand instantly, a sharp scrape blooming red across his fingers.
Yaku was the first one over, crouching down beside him. “You’re acting like an idiot.” His voice was sharp, but his hands were steady, checking the scrape.
“Don’t say fine.” Yaku cut him off. “Look at you.”
Kuroo hissed a little under his breath, flexing his hand. Then he felt someone else crouch down next to him.
Your voice came soft, but firm. “Let me see.”
His heart jumped into his throat. You took his hand carefully, thumb brushing the edge of the scrape, eyes narrowing a little in concern. Kuroo swallowed hard, cold sweat still clinging to his neck.
“Stop doing too much,” you mumbled, pulling the small first-aid kit from the bench beside you.
He stared at you, lips parting—but nothing came out. His throat was dry. You cleaned the cut carefully, dabbing at it with a cotton pad. His fingers twitched in yours, but you didn’t let go. That’s when he blurted it out, quietly, “Did someone actually ask you out already?”
You looked up at him slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit—not mean, just… confused. “Kuroo. Why are you asking me this now?”
His heart beat too fast. His mouth was dry.
“Just…” His eyes flicked away, lashes low. “Did they?”
You went still for a second. The gym felt like it blurred into the background. The sounds of shoes squeaking, Yamamoto and Inuoka talking somewhere behind you—it all faded.
“…No,” you said softly, fingers finishing the last loop of the bandage around his hand. “Nobody has.”
Kuroo’s shoulders dropped just a little. That tension in his chest—the coiling, uncomfortable twist—finally eased. His lips parted just a little, breath shaky—but lighter. And then, just as he started to relax, you added—
“I was just trying to mess with you.” Your voice stayed soft, but there was a teasing lilt under it, eyes narrowing just a bit. “Didn’t know it’d get way under your skin, though.”
Kuroo’s eyes widened for half a second.
“Wha—?” His voice cracked, just barely.
Your lips twitched. “Seriously. You of all people should’ve seen that coming.”
His face flushed immediately, cheeks blooming a soft pink. “Tch—yeah, well—” he scoffed, trying to play it cool, darting his eyes anywhere but at you. His lips pressed tight, a small huff escaping as you finished smoothing the tape over his fingers.
“…Good,” he muttered after a beat, voice softer now. His lips twitched into something caught between a smirk and a real smile—just a little lopsided, almost as if he was a little nervous. “Then I’ve still got time.”
After you finished patching him up, Kuroo flexed his fingers, testing the tape a little before standing. He rolled his shoulders back, stretching his arms overhead with a soft groan. “Alright,” he exhaled, lips quirking just slightly. The gloom in his eyes from earlier had finally faded and he no longer looked so tense now. With a sharp clap of his hands, he jogged back onto the court. “Let’s get this rolling.”
The team glanced at each other, a little caught off guard by the sudden shift in his mood.
“He looks… happy?” Lev blinked, watching Kuroo set up for serve with a grin that hadn’t been there twenty minutes ago.
“Yeah,” Yamamoto snorted under his breath, nudging Inuoka. “I bet he just needed some attention from our dear manager.”
Kuroo’s head whipped toward him instantly—fox-eyed stare sharp, but playful enough to make Yamamoto jolt in place.
“Yamamoto.” His voice cut clean through the air. “You wanna run laps pal?”
“N-No, sir!” Yamamoto yelped, waving his hands in surrender.
Kuroo let it slide, lips twitching into a smirk as he turned back to the court, fully in the zone now. For the first time in over 36 hours, his chest felt lighter. And his heart didn’t feel like it was twisting anymore.
There’s still time, he thought, palms open, ready for the next ball.
And this time, he wasn’t gonna waste it.
Practice ended early the next day. The gym was mostly empty now—squeaky shoes faded down the hallway, bags slung over shoulders, conversations drifting out the doors. But Kuroo stayed behind, lingering near the bench like he had unfinished business. You were still there too, organizing the water bottles back into the crate when you noticed him lingering.
“Kuroo?” you called, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What are you still doing here?”
He tapped the side of his shoe against the floor, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d run his fingers through it too many times.
“Oh nothing,” he said, voice low but playful. “Actually—hey, come here a sec.”
You hummed, walking over, a bottle still in hand. “What, did you twist your ankle again?” you teased.
“No injuries this time,” he said, lips twitching into that foxlike smirk. “Unless you count emotional damage.”
You gave him a look, but he kept going, his hands fidgeting a little in his pockets.
“So listen,” he started, eyes darting away for half a second before coming back to you. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh no,” you teased. “That’s dangerous.”
He rolled his eyes, lips quirking. “Ha-ha, real funny. But I mean it, about the whole prom thing.”
Your heart skipped, but you kept your face neutral. “Yeah?”
Kuroo’s grin wobbled just a little. “I mean, I figured I should ask before Lev or Yamamoto get any bright ideas, right?”
You smirked, folding your arms. “Oh? So this is a competition thing?”
He clicked his tongue. “Tch—nah. It’s a me thing.”
His gaze locked onto yours, and for once, there wasn’t a joke hiding behind his eyes. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, fingers twitching nervously. “Look, I wanted to ask you days ago, okay? I just… took my time.”
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing with a playful glint. “Scared?”
His face flushed immediately. “Pft—what? Me? Scared?” He scoffed, looking away—but you noticed how his hands clenched, how his shoulders tensed just a bit.
“…Kuroo.” You reached out and tugged at the hem of his jersey lightly, just enough to pull his attention back. “Just ask.”
He licked his lips, mouth quirking like he was trying to smirk but failing a little.
“…Fine.” His voice dropped quieter. “Come to prom with me.”
Your lips parted, surprised at how simple he said it. No huge speech, no glittery poster. Just him—hands shaking, voice soft, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. You let the silence hang for a second longer, just to tease. You smirked a little, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine.
Kuroo blinked. His face froze, and he could’ve sworn he stopped breathing.
“Wait—what?” His eyes widened just slightly, mouth parting in shock.
You bit back a laugh, turning casually to grab the crate again like the conversation was over. “I said no,” you repeated, humming innocently as you walked toward the bench. He stood there, stunned silent, his hands still shoved in his pockets but now his fingers were cold and sweaty again.
“What—wait, hold on,” he rushed, jogging a step after you. “You’re kidding, right?”
You glanced at him over your shoulder, eyes narrowed just a little, lips twitching. “Maybe.”
“Maybe!?” His voice cracked a little. “You can’t just say maybe! That’s not how this works!”
You laughed, finally giving in.
“Relax, Kuroo.” Your eyes softened as you walked back toward him, tapping your finger against his chest playfully. “I was just messing with you. Yes, I’ll go to prom with you.”
“Wait, seriously!? I—uh, yeah. I knew you would.”
But you were already turning away, scooping up the crate of water bottles and heading toward the storage room. “Don’t make me regret my decision,” you tossed back over your shoulder, tone light but teasing.
Kuroo blinked, then grinned, falling into step behind you—shoulders squared, heart still thumping.
a.n — hey hey hey! can you tell i had fun writing bokuto’s and kuroo’s stories the most? they’re so silly in the show i couldn’t help myself! (๑>◡<๑) anyways, this has been sitting in my drafts since schools were still in session but finals took up all my time and well… i completely forgot about it. so here it is now for all of you to read! i really hoped you enjoyed reading this little post of mine, until next time, XOXO 💕
